Of Steel and Mirrors
by Harmonious Dischord
Summary: Erik/OC. Takes place during the time of the musical/movie, but totally bypassing the Christine romance thing. Erik has other women to woo...
1. Chapter 1

I was rather surprised when I got the letter, since I had only placed my advertisement a week ago. I was in dire need of a fencing instructor, though I required one that would respect my anonymity, for few men are willing to teach a woman swordplay. My hope for a teacher, let alone a master, had dwindled until I received the letter. Written in elegant script, the succinct message said:

Your first lesson will be at midnight tomorrow, behind the Opera House. Bring your own sword. If you are ready to be taught, I will teach you.

I had never met this man before, yet I already liked him. His writing style only hinted at his pride, which led me to believe in his implied mastery. Perhaps my luck had come through after all.

With only five minutes to midnight, I tied on a thin, white mask and speculated on my new teacher's place of meeting. I had just begun my career as a lead dancer at the Paris Opera House. I found it a little ironic that my secret obsession and my public passion would meet so close together. Not that I mind, I thought to myself as I crept out of my dressing room and to the Opera's back stairwell, but it seems a little too coincidental for my liking. I gingerly stepped outside, hoping that no one saw me sneak outside. Oh, how the rumors and scandals would fly!

And then he stepped out of the shadows.

My new teacher was dressed in all black, contrasting with my entirely white ensemble. His dark hair was slicked back in a small, masculine ponytail. His eyes, though, held me captivated. They reminded me of dark tunnels with only a small light at the end of them.

"Welcome," he said, with a voice that sounded like silk on tile. "I see that you wear a mask. Wonderful! If I teach you in the future, you should always cover your face."

I was liking this man even more as he drew his sword. It was simply crafted, yet I was enthralled by the hilt of the sword: it was shaped like a human skull. I drew my own sword, and we circled around each other in an advance-lunge formation.

Our swords clashed; how I love that sound of metal on metal. It was soon apparent in our battle that we were equals, yet my teacher kept striking. His dominant style was Prise de Fer, or to take control of my weapon, as my father once put it. I was forced to rely on almost solely defensive moves; however, I scored a few slashes courtesy of a moulinet and a feint.

"You are wonderful," he said, hardly concealing the smile in his voice, "yet you still choose to learn. Why is that?"

I parried his blow and answered in a low voice, "I have a secret. Yes, it involves the mask, and no, you shall never learn it. Unless, of course, you defeat me in battle."

"Is that a bargain?" he asked, very nearly slicing off my hand.

"Of course," I replied and added, as an afterthought, "and I intend to win."

My teacher nodded, and we continued our assaults, searching for any weaknesses and finding none. After what seemed like hours, he broke off, saying, "I will teach you. Yes, your skill is matched to mine. Meet me here again tomorrow night. Midnight."

As he turned to leave, I yelled after him, "Wait!" My teacher turned, a look of bemusement on his face. "What shall I call you?" I asked, rather curious.

He looked straight at me, his black eyes seemed to see right through me as he said, "The Phantom." Despite my sweat, I found myself shivering.

"The Phantom?" I whispered. I knew what that name meant.

My teacher nodded, "The Phantom." Then he turned on his heel, and the darkness swallowed him, leaving me alone in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

We continued this way for almost three months. Every night, just after midnight, I would battle this living "Phantom". I write his name scornfully, yet truly I think it with fear. The Phantom here at the Opera is a tyrant; the rafters literally rain his demanding notes.

My teacher hardly utters a word after we strike our initial blows. All the while our swords dance, he keeps an intense gaze on my face. Has he guessed my secret? If he knows I am a woman, would he even bother teaching me?

"This is our last lesson. Ever," the Phantom said one night, unsheathing his sword and interruping my thoughts.

"Would you care to explain why?" I asked, lowering my voice to disguise my femininity.

He smiled, "I have my reasons."

We circled each other, but, for the first time ever, my heart was not in the fight at all. He quickly deflected my blows, disarmed me, and forced me to kneel before him.

"You are defeated. I shall take my prize, if you remember our bargain. Your identity belongs to me!" In one fluid movement, using his sword, he cast the mask from my face.

"I know you," he said startled. "You're the dancer from my opera..."

"Monsieur," I pleaded, "please, I beg of you, do not let anyone know of my swordplay. It would ruin me--"

"Good God! My talent was wasted on a dancer!" he cried to the heavens.

My fear turned to fury at that moment. "Wasted?" I shrieked venomously. Picking up my sword, I lashed at him and, catching him unawares, tore the mask from his face.

I screamed, then turned away. It was horrible, horrible!... and yet, so beautiful. One half of his face was that of an angel's; perfectly angular, but with a softness in his features. The other half was demonic: the features were widely disproportionate, cruelly twisting the mouth into a sick grin. The black bangs hung limply across his forehead, barely concealing the scar that ran from his temple to his eye.

"You have seen Erik's face." His voice stung me like ice. "Darkness awaits you; there will be no returning to the light."

So his name was Erik, was it? And darkness... darkness! He meant to kill me! Send my soul to the perpetual darkness: death itself!

As a distraction, I threw my sword to the side; my tactic bought me enough time to flee. I had lost my sword, but had won my life. Sprinting down dark alleys, I heard Erik's voice, as if he were standing beside me, though it would be quite impossible:

"I know who you are now, Gemma Toulee. Make no mistake: I'll be watching."


	3. Chapter 3

I must admit, my paranoia the week after seeing Erik's face escaladed with each passing day. Due to this, I threw myself against a wall in fear whenever I heard footsteps outside my room or approaching me from down the corridor.

On such an occasion, my head hit the wall in my room near my full-length bedside mirror. One can imagine my astonishment when I perceived the area to be hollow, and a quick assertion revealed me a long, hidden stone passageway. I had allowed my curiosity to overcome my fear, thus recklessly entering the tunnel.

My hand slid against the mildew drenched stones as my eyes adjusted to the faint light. Light...? Torches! I grabbed one without bothering to fathom why it was lit, and continued on my way.

After some time, I came to where the path branched in three directions: left, middle, and right. Taking a gamble, I headed towards the right.

I found myself in a large cavern. Along the wall was a large bench, nay, more like the stone seat grew out of the wall itself. The middle of the great room sported a pillar of rough, jagged stone; the far end of the space branched off to a balcony, the very edge restricted by a stone railing. Admiring the view from the balcony, I failed to see the shadows move behind me until it was too late. I turned, and nearly screamed.

He was there. Oh God, how I had thought I had escaped him. A look of surprise crossed his face, then he lunged, leaving me barely enough time to flinch.

Thus I found myself kneeling at Erik's feet once more, though this time at the point of my own sword instead of his.

"Kill me quickly," I begged, the tears starting to prickle at my eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you." Was he laughing at me?

"B-but earlier, you said that 'darkness awaits you.'" This statement was greeted with a chuckle as he helped me stand and handed me my sword.

"Yes, and look where you are now. In the darkness." Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned to go but his hand shot out and caught my wrist.

"In return for your life," he said, suddenly getting serious, "you must promise me three things. Give me your word, Gemma."

"Monsieur," I whispered, my voice echoing in the cavern, "you have my word."

"Good. First of all, the path by which I entered is restricted to you. Also, you remember where the main path diverged into three, yes? The left leads to a cliff, the right, to a labyrinth which no man has escaped alive. Promise me that your feet will never tread either of these paths."

"I promise."

"Secondly, I insist that we call each other Erik and Gemma. Bing called 'monsieur' makes me feel... old."

To this I also gave my consent, though not without a smile.

"Finally," he whispered, giving me an intense gaze, "you must promise to meet me here every night from now on."

"I swear it," I answered. He gently smiled and slid his hand to mine. Kissing it like a true gentleman, he said:

"It is late, Gemma dearest. Sleep; I will see you soon enough."

I pulled my hand back and turned away in a mixture of fear and disgust. What a pompous, arrogant man!

"I will see you soon enough." His words still rang in my ears.

My fate had been sealed.


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean, you can't sing?" Erik asked, genuinely surprised as he brushed a stray lock of my golden hair from my face. It was strange how comfortable I had gotten with him over the past few weeks.

"I am a dancer, not a singer," I replied, and leaned against the stone banister in the underground cavern. "Singing was not part of the job description when I applied for the job. Besides which, when I sing, people run away with fright."

Erik laughed, as I knew he would. "I can hear it, you know. When you speak, it's as if part of you tries to find a melody to go with your words."

I gave him a quizzical look. His black eyes bored into me, as if to set my soul aflame. The demonic side of his face I did not see, nor did I wish to; he had mercifully covered that portion with a plain white mask. I turned my face away so he wouldn't see how his words had settled inside me.

"I could teach you. I taught Christine Daae, though I hear she has fallen for the Viscount de Chagny." Erik sighed, his eyes glazed. "Undoubtedly she will lose her are if she gives herself to that man."

I had remained silent this whole time. There was a feeling inside me growing more restless with each passing day. Perhaps it was the fact that my father, my last living relative, was dying from acute pneumonia. Of course, I hadn't told Erik this. Actually, in a way, I had. We had both given each other abridged versions of our childhoods one night, but all he knew was that my father and I were close. He knew nothing about my mother...

Erik tried a different approach to break my reverie:

"Your father would have wanted--"

"Shut up!" I screamed. "You know nothing of what he would have wanted!"

I turned to escape from what had become a nightmare, but Erik caught me and dragged me to the stone bench. Pressing my head against his shoulder, he allowed me to cry for several minutes.

"Tell me," he commanded when my tears had stopped. "Tell me what has happened."

I sighed, "My father... loved me. Loved me very dearly. He would always pay me little attentions, as a father should. He was so kind, so loving..."

"You speak as if he exists in the past. Surely he's not...?" Erik's voice trailed off.

"No, he lives. But death is inevitable at this point. Pneumonia. It took my mother as well."

"I've never heard you mention your mother."

"She was..."

"Yes?"

"Abusive. She-she beat me," as I said this, I traced a faint scar on my upper arm. "Everyday. Not in front of my father, of course. She was far to cunning to do that. She blamed all of my scars on my swordplay. I was far too afraid of her to tell the truth. The night she died, she swore me to secrecy about her behavior. My father must never know, especially now. I don't want his last thoughts to be of a-a-angst!"

The last word was drowned out by my sobs. Erik held me once again as my body shook with the depth of my emotion. Then he gently helped me to my feet and led me to my room. The only sounds between us were our footsteps and my struggling to control my tears. His arms never left my waist in support.

"I'll be here if you need me," he whispered in my ear as I crawled through the wall. The secret door shut with a click as I collapsed on my bed. I turned my head and saw my reflection in the mirror.

My last thought before sleep blissfully overcame me was that it was lucky that the caverns were so dark; Erik must not have seen how inflamed my sapphire eyes were from the tears.


	5. Chapter 5

He was dead.

I was by his bedside when he uttered his last words, a simple command, ordering me to be strong. With a groan, he fell silent, and died, leaving me alone in the world.

My father was dead.

I would never allow love, of a friend, of a family, or of a lover, to enter my heart again. The pain that love created was simply, indescribably, unbearable.

But that was two weeks ago. At the moment, I was with Erik in the underground cavern. A strained silence enveloped us, which was odd in itself, for usually Erik and I talked non-stop about everything and anything.

"Erik?" I asked, turning towards him. "Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Gemma... what would you do if someone told you they loved you?"

I paused. What an odd question. "I don't know," I answered truthfully. "Why?"

"Because I love you." With that, Erik finally faced me, his eyes emanating a passionate burning. That look frightened me, and I backed away, but Erik embraced me and gently murmured sweet words of love into my ear. Then he stopped, and whispered:

"I'm frightening you, aren't I?"

"I'm not afraid of you," I replied, but I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Yes you are," he replied. "You're trembling. Don't worry; I won't let anything happen to you."

"I told you already, I'm not..." I made the mistake of looking into his electrifying eyes. "... afraid." Erik smelled like an exotic perfume at this closeness.

"Of course you're not, my love," he murmured, and gently, oh so gently, our lips parted and met.

Bliss. Total bliss. I was flying, yet I was still on the ground. Absolute perfection. My fingers instinctively entwined in his hair as I pulled him closer. How could one kiss mean so much?

Then my resolution came back to me. "No!" I cried, pushing Erik away. A look of pure hurt crossed his face, and we both turned away from each other. I couldn't allow myself to fall in love. Love and heartache went hand-in-hand, or so my father's death taught me. In order to be strong, I would have to be impervious to pain. In order to be impervious to pain, I could never fall in love, even with Erik. After a time, I spoke again:

"I'm so sorry, Erik," my cheeks turning red, "but I don't love you. We're friends, that's all." Erik placed his hand under my chin, turning my head to face him. Our eyes met; a tingling crept down my spine.

"Your lips say that," his look of hurt had turned into one of bemusement, "but your eyes tell me otherwise." He leaned into me, his sweet breath caressing my face with his next words:

"I will wait, Gemma. I will wait until you discover your true feeling for me."


	6. Chapter 6

Life's quirks often surprise me. For example, my father laid under soil for a month before I learnd that a small chapel adjoined the opera house. I felt small traces of residual resentment, knowing that I could have used more time in prayer when my father was actually alive. Still, I one day found myself entering the chapel, my thoughts turned towards my deceased parent.

I knelt down in a small wooden pew, clasping my hands tightly in prayer. With closed eyes and a furrowed brow, I started whispering a phrase I remembered from church:

"The LORD is my shapard, I shall not want."

Behind me, I heard a small scuffling noise, but I ignored it. It was surely just a creak, or a mouse, or something that wouldn't disturb my prayers. Added to the noise, however, was something that sounded like... breathing. My own breaths, I decided, and furrowed my brow as I tried to remember how to finish the verse.

"HE lay me beside HIM in green pastures."

That hadn't been my voice.

I jumped, twisting my head sharply, my eyes flying open in shock and fear. No. Not fear; I wouldn't allow myself to feel that emotion, or any emotion, again.

Erik. He stood not ten feet away, hardly surpressing his laughter. My gasps turned into annoyed breaths as I turned my head away from him, but against my will my cheeks reddened with embarrassment. My concentration had been broken and to make matters worse, the last person on earth I wanted to see right now was- Did he just sit down next to me?

Stupid, stupid man.

I shot Erik a scalding glance. "Lust is a sin, you know," I told him as I moved farther down the pew, remembering our kiss. Or rather, trying to forget our kiss... and his lips... and- No! I wouldn't dwell on the subject!

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Erik lean in; a wave of smells hit me: roses, must, and candles, not to mention a multitude of others that I couldn't distinguish. It smelled like home... when father would read to me, out in the garden. The books had been old-so old, and fragile- and father wouldn't let me hold them. He'd always take me in his lap, hold the book in front of me, and read to me in his deep, resonating voice. There would always be roses around us... and I would often fall asleep on his lap... Oh father!

"Love is a virtue, you know." Erik interrupted my thoughts, sliding a gloved hand across my waist and puling me closer to him. I pushed him back; I had no desire to be reminded of _him_, and he had no right to break off my memory of my past. And above all, I didn't need someone like _him_ to hold me!

"Please leave." I said, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. Memories danced before my eyes. "Just... go, Erik. Please." My voice cracked a little around my final words, making them come out more as a plead than as a command. I looked at him, intending to show him that I didn't fear him, but... oh God! His horrible, wonderful eyes! His eyes had seduced me already... and his lips had held me captive... and the devil take it! Erik knew that he had power over me.

"But I couldn't leave," he murmured quietly, watching my eyes involuntarily well up with tears. No! I wouldn't cry; not in front of him, not ever again. I wouldn't... I couldn't...

Erik wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in so tightly that I had no room to fight back. Nor did I truly have the strength.

"Erik... please..." Now I was begging. My head rest gently against his chest, my arms futily pushing against his broad shoulders. I felt shame tightening around me heart; I was not strong enough, not nearly strong enough.

"Gemma," he breathed, his lips on my eyelids. "Let me show you... let me show you how much I love you." I wanted to do something, anything, but Erik was faster than my mind; his lips found mine and forced them open, ensuring that the only thing I could do was give a soft moan of pleasure.

His power... This was his power, how he controlled me. My body was screaming, partially for more, partially for release. My hands moved against my will and burried themselves in his hair, fingers twisting and pulling our mouths closer, if such a feat were possible.

My mind kept screaming against me.

I had made a promise to my father to stay strong... I wasn't strong around this man, around Erik... I needed to honor my promise... I promised... promised... Erik's power... was terrible... frightening... destroying my strength. I feared his power, and perhaps this fear acted on my behalf. Perhaps the fearful part of me acted the way I did.

Perhaps fear made me rip off his mask.

In less than an instant, my body slammed against the pew as Erik pushed me away, cursing loudly. I had already seen his face, so many nights ago, and though I could still see his angelic half, the contrast in the whole face made me give a little shreik.

Erik turned and faced me with murderous rage in his eyes; for the first time in my left, I felt all my stubborn independance, all my strength, finally slip away from me. Fear gripped my entire body and held my heart, making me shake.

Erik was shaking as well, but not from fear. Wordlessly, he angrily grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me up, dragging me into one of his dark, never-ending tunnels.


End file.
